


Homesick

by Ruenis



Series: DAI [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruenis/pseuds/Ruenis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cole realises Inquisitor Lavellan is feeling a bit homesick, and starts to wonder why. Dorian and Cassandra are informed that Lavellan has someone 'he wants to spend the rest of his life with'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homesick

"The Inquisitor's been spending more and more time by himself," Dorian points out, voice low and careful as he gazes at the elf's back from his spot near the campfire. His back rests against his iron staff which he had planted earlier into the forest's floor. Beside him lies the books he had been reading until fifteen minutes ago.

"And we will mind our business so as to not disturb him," Cassandra says firmly, gaze almost even with Dorian's eye level; she seems to be looking past him, over his head at the empty tent behind him. She is sitting upon a wooden stool near the requisition table, plans and detailed blueprints before her fingertips.

"His sudden change doesn't concern you in the slightest?" Dorian demands quietly, gaze shifting to the Seeker. His features are bothered, almost annoyed with the woman's seemingly heartless comment. "He could be.." He trails off, struggling to find the correct word.

".. _homesick_ ," Cole finishes quietly.

Both Dorian and Cassandra jump at the spirit's voice, and immediately look to the potion table where Cole is sitting.

His legs dangle just inches above the ground, toes grazing the grass and sleeping flower buds. He is not looking at them, his gaze instead fixed to the Inquisitor's back, clear eyes filled with concern and understanding.

"I.. was going to say depressed, or lonely, but perhaps you _would_ know more about his feelings than we," Dorian mumbles, sighing to mask his shaken surprise.

Cole had been gone just a few moments ago.

"How do you know he's feeling homesick?" Cassandra asks, rolling up the blueprints and plans into small scrolls. She ties them with string to keep them from being undone as she gazes at the blond spirit, watching as he gently kicks the table with his heels.

Cole stays quiet, trying to sift through the various feelings and thoughts until he finds one that he thinks might appease the two. “It feels warm. Fire crackling, ashes scattered on the grass.. You kiss me beside the fire, meeting here in secret, your voice but hushed whispers..” he says, tone soft and gentle, “It's almost _familiar_. The damp wood burns, and you taste of rain this time. It feels _warm_. We're safe. Home. _I miss you_. Homesick.”

"Who?" Dorian echoes, raising an eyebrow, "Who are you talking about?" He adjusts himself slightly, raising his knee and resting his elbow on his thigh, head in his hand. Gaze flickering between Cassandra and Cole, he rests his eyes on Cole's.

Cole tilts his head somewhat, and returns Dorian's gaze. "The person who he wants to spend the rest of his life with," he says, not entirely understanding the question. He shifts, jumping off of the table, feet soundlessly landing onto the grassy forest floor. He continues to gaze at the mage for a second before looking toward the Inquisitor, studying his hunched back once more.

It looks like the elf is gazing over the edge of the small cliff he is resting on, with the way he is leaning over like that.

"The forest reminds him of his home. The elves here are asleep under the trees.." Cole says, voice almost inaudible now.

The touchy subject seems to be affecting him, too.

"The elves are..?"

 _Oh_.

Dorian closes his mouth the instant he realises what Cole is talking about, gaze slipping to the lush grass underneath him.

It is said that the elves who died in the Exalted March had trees grown over their graves, to commemorate just how many elven lives were lost all those years ago.

When they had gotten here, the Inquisitor had even made a comment about being uncomfortable in such a place. They had shrugged it off as simple uneasiness. The Inquisitor is often uneasy, and is especially uncomfortable in new places. It took him weeks to adjust to Haven, and a month and a half to adjust to get used to Skyhold. Though his clan interacted with and took an oddly active interest in humans, his ambassadors and Cassandra noticed he was awkward for a bit around others. He seems to only truly be at peace when alone, with Cole, or chatting with some of Leliana's scouts.

The Inquisitor stands up suddenly, causing Cole to walk over to him, pulling at his sleeve. The elf smiles somewhat, features soft, relaxed.. _at ease_. “Good evening,” he says, “I didn't know you were still awake.”

The blond stays silent, only gazing up at the elven mage with that ever-curious look on his immature features.

“I.. suppose we should we off to bed, then? Are you sharing a tent with me again?” the Inquisitor asks, earning a nod.

They only have three tents, usually. If a fourth is available, the soldiers and watchmen use it to take turns as they watch the campsite. Cassandra has mentioned before that she should not be entitled to her own tent; she _is_ a soldier, and used to sharing space with men and women alike. The Inquisitor insisted that she (as well as Sera and Vivienne) have their own tents when they go out on excursions, and thus has been the setup so far. That leaves Dorian with a tent of his own as well, though he does occasionally share with the Inquisitor or another member of their small group.

Cole prefers sharing with the Inquisitor, Varric, or Solas.

The Inquisitor starts walking toward where Cassandra and Dorian are relaxing, and smiles politely at them. He nods his head just a bit, “Goodnight. Cole and I will be retiring for the night.”

“Goodnight, Inquisitor,” Cassandra returns.

“Good evening,” Dorian chimes in.

Cole follows after the elf, footsteps almost inaudible against the grassy, leaf-covered forest floor. He casts a final glance at the two humans, giving them a smile, a surprisingly warm one, before he slips into the tent after the Inquisitor.

Dorian and Cassandra relax immediately once both of them are out of sight, though they do not speak, knowing how easy it would be for the whitette to hear them at this close distance. Instead, they merely look to each other, nod once, and bid the other goodnight before retiring for the night.

* * *

 

Cole awakens to the sight of the Inquisitor still asleep beside him.

The whitette's breathing is quiet, even. Like this, he appears every ounce the normal elf he had wanted to be, childish looking even – harmless. Without the faint, sometimes eerily glowing mark on his palm and the back of his hand, he could be mistaken for an ordinary elven mage.

It is then that Cole remembers that the Inquisitor is around the same age as himself.

Not a child, but not quite suited to the role of an adult, despite his decision – though the responsibility was somewhat forced upon him – to take care and educate the spirit.

The blond sits up, pushing back the worn, frayed sleeping bag that takes up the near entirety of their tent. He crawls soundlessly out of their sleeping quarters, leaving the elf alone to sleep, if just for a few moments more –

 _We spend most of our time sleeping by the fire_.

The thought pops into his mind without any warning, and he shifts his gaze toward the unconscious Inquisitor. “You miss him.”

* * *

 

Everyone in the party was relieved when they had finally managed to make it back to Skyhold. It had taken them nearly a week to get back, though Cole had amused them the whole time with a song about mockingbirds.

The Inquisitor faintly remembers Cole and Blackwall speaking about it when they were at the Storm Coast – or was it Crestwood? – either way, while Blackwall had been perturbed, the rest of the group enjoyed the blond's surprisingly nice singing voice.

Cole is keeping the whitette company, as the rest of the party disbanded upon their arrival in the front yard. The duo are playing chess in the back courtyard. The blond had taken to chess with great enthusiasm, as he had with Wicked Grace, because similarly, it is a game of skill and comprehension.

Although.. it _did_ take a bit for the Inquisitor to convince Cole that there was no betting in chess – there _could_ be, but Cole plays to win, and he plays seriously.

“About your friend..” Cole suddenly says, a small, white coloured bishop in his hands, “Who is ' _Elion_ '?” He moves the wooden playing piece diagonally in front of one of the Inquisitor's black pawns, capturing it. Raising his head, he finds the elf gazing at him, wide-eyed, and surprise written on his face.

“Where did you..?”

“You were thinking about him. When we were in the forest,” Cole says, blue catching grey, “He's ' _the person you want to spend the rest of your life with_ '?”

The elf's face flushes crimson. “Y-you..” he stammers, unable to form a sentence at the moment. His nails lightly dig into his leg, and his heart rises to his throat, halting his speech in his fluster.

“It's your turn,” Cole points out innocently, gesturing to the chess board.

Cole has captured most of the Inquisitor's pieces now.

Each of them have three pawns, while Cole has a knight, both of his bishops, his queen and king, and one rook. The Inquisitor has both of his knights and rooks, one bishop, and only his king.

Swallowing, the whitette's gaze slips to the wooden board. “Draw?” he offers, hoping the spirit will say yes; anything to get away from here as fast as possible.

“No,” Cole says childishly, shaking his head. He smiles just barely, leaning back in his chair as he gazes at the other, repeating, “Who is 'Elion'?”

“Where did you hear that name?” the Inquisitor asks, voice shaky and strained. His tanned cheeks are still dusted with a red-hot blush, but he continues to play the game. His fingers hover above a black pawn, which, after some thought and consideration, he moves in front of Cole's remaining knight.

The blond removes the knight, placing it beside the chessboard where all his captured pieces sit neatly in a row. “From you,” he murmurs eerily, though the whitette has gotten used to his cryptic comments and even understands a few. “When you were sleeping,” he adds, only furthering the other's fluster, “He seems nice.”

“He.. _is_ nice. I care for him greatly,” the whitette says, tone laced with pure affection. He clears his throat, watching as Cole makes his next move – a black pawn now stands in front of a white one. “You.. haven't told anyone?” he asks, stealing the spirit's gaze.

“No. Is that a good thing?”

The Inquisitor breathes a sigh of relief, finally allowing a smile to make its way to his lips. “I want to tell them myself, Cole,” he says, lowering his voice despite the courtyard being mostly empty, save for a few elves and some of Leliana's scouts enjoying their break, “But I'd be more than happy to tell you first, since you don't seem to know.”

Cole's head cocks itself to the side somewhat, subconsciously showing his intrigue in the matter.

“Elion is.. well to put it bluntly, he's my husband,” the Inquisitor says, smile turning clumsy and sweet now. His whole aura changes, defense completely melting as he lets his usually stone-hard guard down; the whitette relaxes, shoulders dropping.

“You're.. _happy_ ,” Cole says, lighting up. It seems the sudden change in demenour is a welcome one. “ _He makes you_ happy.”

“He makes me very happy, yes,” the Inquisitor says with a small nod. His face is still red, but it has subdued to a lighter, warmer shade to reflect his elation. “He means absolutely _everything_ to me. And.. I miss him. I never imagined I would be staying anywhere but with my clan. If I had known going to the conclave would..” He trails off, smile faltering.

“No one knew. It isn't your fault,” Cole offers, trying to repair the other's mood.

They have forgotten about their game, now.

“Tell me about him.”

Blinking, the elf gazes in surprise at the young blond. “About Elion? Where do I even start..?” he wonders aloud, softening once more. ”How about.. the story of how he proposed to me?”

* * *

 

“.. and that's how he won my father's approval. We married a few months later,” the Inquisitor finishes, a broad smile on his lips.

They are still sitting at the small, stone table that holds their chessboard, though they have long disregarded the game.

The whitette shows Cole his left hand, and for a moment the spirit thinks he is being shown the mark – he realises that the elf is showing him the silver, delicate ring he always wears.

“He got that for you?” Cole asks, earning a nod, “He loves you very much.”

“I.. Thank you, Cole,” the whitette says, smile widening. He pulls his hand back, resting it on his lap, “Perhaps you..–“

“Your worship!”

Turning his head, the Inquisitor finds himself gazing up at one of Leliana's scouts: a brunet with green paint on his face. “Yes?” he asks, prompting the scout to continue.

“Your worship, there's someone who insists on seeing you. We threatened to call the templars, but he demands to see you,” the man says, voice fast paced and breathless. It seems he ran here to convey the message before any action was taken. He takes a soft breath in before he says, “What would you have us do?”

“Does he seem dangerous?” the elf asks, raising a white eyebrow; normally, the people who wish to see him are devout believers in Andraste, or curious about the mark upon his hand.

“No, sir. He is unarmed and not armoured,” the scout answers.

“I think you should meet him,” Cole says quietly, startling the brunet.

The man looks to Cole with a surprised look on his features, eyes wide and a hand at his belt, where his dagger lies in a sheathe.

The Inquisitor bites back an amused laugh, shaking his head, “Please pay no attention to him. He is not a threat.” Clearing his throat, he tries to get serious again, only to end up smiling clumsily at Cole's ability to startle people despite being in close range of anyone at any given time. “I.. Pardon me. Please escort him here. I'll meet with him. You're free to leave once he arrives”

“Yes, sir!” The scout salutes the whitette, running back off from whence he came.

The whitette looks back to Cole, an amused grin still resting on his lips. “You should try to stop doing that, Cole,” he murmurs, watching as a curious look flickers across the blond's features, “You'll end up scaring the scouts half to death.”

Cole stays quiet, allowing the information to set in – Varric mentioned once that his appearing and disappearing does sometimes appear confusing and frightening.

“I wonder who it is..? Usually, it's women or families..” the Inquisitor murmurs to himself, though it is more than audible enough for Cole to hear.

“It's a man.”

“A man?”

“An elf, a bit older than you,” Cole continues.

“An..–“

“Your worship?”

The Inquisitor turns slightly, “Yes, what..–“ He freezes upon his grey meeting a pair of warm, familiar, amber coloured eyes. “ _Elion_ ,” he whispers, voice near cracking. His grey eyes gloss over as he gazes up at the other white haired elf, and huge, hot tears start to slip down his cheeks, “ _Elion_!” He stands up, throwing his arms around the young man, burying his face in the other's neck.

“I missed you, too, Lorsen,” Elion whispers, returning the hug with a firm, strong one of his own. He rests his hands on Lorsen's waist, leaning down slightly to compensate for their slight height difference. Smiling into the Inquisitor's hair, he allows Lorsen to hug him for as long as he wants, listening to his staggered breathing and his quiet sobs. “Ar lath ma, emma lath. Ir abelas. I should have come to see you sooner,” he whispers, gently kissing Lorsen's head, resting his lips on the smaller whitette's forehead.

“Am I dreaming?” Lorsen whispers, voice shaking with fear at the thought, “Oh, Creators, please tell me I'm not.”

“You aren't dreaming,” Cole offers quietly, causing Elion to jump in surprise.

The older whitette reflexively squeezes Lorsen in surprise, drawing him closer to his chest as he turns his head to meet the spirit's calm gaze. “Who..–“ he starts to demand, stopping when the Inquisitor pulls away from him.

“Hamin, ma vhenan!” Lorsen says, resting his hands on the other's chest, “He's harmless. He's a boy I'm taking care of.” He smiles, though it is guarded and careful, as if he is hiding something.

“I didn't see him before,” Elion murmurs, amber resting on Cole's clear eyes. He huffs softly, placing a hand at his waist as he frowns at the boy, not quite buying what his husband is selling.

Lorsen swallows, gaze flickering to the blond.

Cole remains motionless in his seat, having relaxed and reclined it when the Inquisitor's priorities were elsewhere. He has a tiny smile on his lips, almost as if he is _elated_ by the other whitette's presence – though, to be entirely honest, he _is_.

Lorsen is happy, is experiencing _real_ , _genuine_ happiness for the first time in awhile since he became the Inquisitor. And it is because Elion is here, at his side, touching and speaking to him. He had witnessed it – the moment Lorsen's face lit up like a child who has been gifted a surprise. He saw the moment that their heart's rose to their throats, the _exact_ moment they were relieved to find the other well and _alive_.

So of course he is elated.

He is happy that Lorsen's lover can bring him such profound joy at a time like this, happy that Elion arrived just when Lorsen needed him most.

“You aren't homesick anymore,” Cole murmurs, gaze now flickering to the Inquisitor.

Lorsen blinks, grey eyes narrowing in a mixture of surprise and confusion. “Pardon me?”

The blond moves now, sitting up straight in his chair. “It's so warm, and you're so bright _it's almost blinding_. I'm so glad you're okay,” he whispers, causing the Inquisitor's face to flush crimson.

“Cole..–“

“What is he..–“

“You mean _everything_ to me. Warm. Familiar. Safe. _You're_ safe. You're familiar in my arms. So, so warm. Walking, breathless, tired, aching.. Came all this way to see _you_. The way you looked at me made it all worth it,” Cole continues, gaze now shifting to the taller whitette, who's eyes widen in pure shock. “You missed him, too.”

“H-how did he..?” Elion stammers, tongue-tied and confused. His own face is now a lovely shade of red, thoroughly embarrassed by his thoughts and feelings being brought to light; he would have much preferred to tell Lorsen himself, when they were alone and out of earshot.

“He's, erm.. a spirit. Of compassion. He can read some of our thoughts,” Lorsen finally admits, watching Elion give him an ' _are you serious, why didn't you mention that sooner?_ ' look. He smiles sheepishly, repeating once more, “He means no harm. I'm taking care of him.”

“He.. won't..?”

“Possess me? No,” Lorsen says, voice lowering so that the spirit cannot hear the comment. “Cole is a good boy.”

Elion remains red-faced, gaze slipping to the ground as he takes in what just happened along with the new information Lorsen supplied him with.

The blond stands up suddenly, starting to walk past the couple, footsteps near-silent against the grass-ridden stone pavement. “We can finish our game later,” he comments, turning his head slightly to gaze between the two, “He really wants to kiss you.”

“Cole!” Lorsen cries, ears burning red.

Elion bites back his own quip, having figured the comment was for him. He watches the spirit leave, eyes trailing after his quiet figure. “He's.. really something,” he mumbles, fingers loosely pulling at the Inquisitor's own hand, “And you're his caretaker?”

“The responsibility was thrust upon me, but I do enjoy it. He's very.. I suppose the word is ' _refreshing_ '? He's kind, albeit a bit odd, but he means well,” Lorsen muses, allowing Elion to lace their fingers together. He smiles up at the other elf, affection clear on his features. Leaning upward just a bit, he presses their lips together, pulling away to cup Elion's cheek with his free hand, “I did miss you. Terribly.”

Elion returns the smile with a loving one of his own, squeezing Lorsen's small hand, “I missed you, too, emma lath. “You aren't homesick anymore?” he asks, quoting Cole's earlier comment.

“No. I'm not,” Lorsen murmurs, gazing up at the other. “We have a lot of catching up to do. I'll have to introduce you to everyone during dinner.” He closes an eye when Elion kisses just above his eyebrow, and realises that the other elf is kissing the scar he had gotten awhile ago, in Crestwood.

“I'd like that. Let's find a place to catch up. You can tell me all about your journey.”

Lorsen chuckles softly, starting to pull the other away from the courtyard and to the tower across that nobody save Lord Minutiae seems to use, “I suppose I should start with this scar..”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my longest work (ever!) and I'm really super duper proud of it. Not just because it's long, but also because I got to write about Cole (who is an absolute sweetheart and deserves anything and everything), and I think it's pretty in-character and not too OOC.  
> Also, I chose not to put Lavellan with anyone but an OC, because I adore Dorian / Iron Bull and whatever romances may spout up with the other characters, nor was I particularly interested in anyone in the actual game, save Dorian (and unfortunately) non-romanceable Cole.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my longest work (ever!) and I'm really super duper proud of it. Not just because it's long, but also because I got to write about Cole (who is an absolute sweetheart and deserves anything and everything), and I think it's pretty in-character and not too OOC.  
> Also, I chose not to put Lavellan with anyone but an OC, because I adore Dorian / Iron Bull and whatever romances may spout up with the other characters, nor was I particularly interested in anyone in the actual game, save Dorian (and unfortunately) non-romanceable Cole.


End file.
